September 2005
Go back, some ten years plus ago
when garden things began to grow,
how high, of course, we didn’t know
would be the palms of Raya Park.
Both house and garden rough and bare,
broke windows leaked in free fall air,
a partial roof, we didn’t care
when we first came to Raya Park.
My father came to help put in
ixora cuttings, short and thin,
palm babies that would soon begin
to take control of Raya Park.
Ixora in rough stunted grow,
bunga kertas high hedge row,
watch yellow flower sunset go
one evening, up in Raya Park.
Papaya, noodles, breakfast fare,
hot tea, light wood table, chair,
phone book away, my wife lay bare
on the warm bed in Raya Park.
A quick engagement, nearly ten,
a scrum and maul for girls and men,
a break to breathe in air, and then
a hot clear shower in Raya Park.
Pale yellow, orange pillow, sheet,
palm tree, starfish bedspread neat,
in turquoise bent-shell cool crab heat
that descends on Raya Park.
Banana fridge, cold water jug,
hand-bleep fan air turning hug,
the Rooibos steaming morning mug
by the tall palms of Raya Park.
Watch ‘Consequence’ of changing you
to someone that before, you knew,
old dental records now askew
like rain soak hedge in Raya Park.
Watch Charlton Heston, one hand scout
with renegade Apache, rout,
one cannon shot, the French ran out
far, far away from Raya Park.
Watch tough long-hair John Rambo beat
the Commies in the desert heat,
the hand grenade and Russians meet
one night we spent in Raya Park.
I wanted to make sure she knew
enough to help her sail through
heat, element, resources too
in school next year, by Raya Park.
I’m not around them full-time now
to watch them as they try to plough
through boring textbooks that kow tow
to brain fatigue in Raya Park.
Now the time for me has come,
pack bag, iron new shirts, feel numb,
to leave them once again with Mum
in the house in Raya Park.
The wear and tear of ten years rent,
new windows, coat of fresh paint scent,
but fresco plants are eloquent
in the garden in Raya Park.
They came to watch me fly away,
departure zone, KLIA,
the Guinness kept the tears away,
try to forget, from Raya Park.
A long, long trip through Asian air
to Birmingham, and Worcester pear,
to Hereford’s three pound twenty fare
to reach my home by Mardy Park.
Epilogue
The cool Welsh winds of autumn blow,
erasing scenes one week ago,
now waiting for the time to go,
to go back again to Raya Park.
I cannot wait to see my two,
a long awaiting winter through
a Chinese New Year rendezvous
back home again in Raya Park.
The ixora somehow hang in there,
poor soil run down, in half despair,
they whisper in the evening air,
Je suis ici encore, mon père,
to their father up in Beeches Park.
A few pounds in some smoke-drenched phone
to hear their talk, post-ringing tone,
but exit booth, feel more alone,
a cold man now by Mardy Park.
With Scrumpy Jack’s refreshing care,
Jen the housemate hot chicken fare,
the cross-stitch full-rig sails set square,
invade the night by Mardy Park.
You now are sleeping, your time two,
where palm trees touch equator’s hue;
and I?... I only think of you,
one week ago in Raya Park.
